t into them, shooting them down, and
occasionally being shot down, at a range of a few yards. Harwich and
Watney, who had charge of the maxim, died nobly with all the men of
their gun section round them. Reed, the sergeant-major, rushed at
the enemy with his clubbed rifle, but was riddled with bullets. Major
Williams, the commander, was shot through the stomach as he rallied
his men. The gunners had time to fire two rounds before they were
overpowered and shot down to a man. For half an hour the resistance was
maintained, but at the end of that time the Boers had the whole camp in
their possession, and were already hastening to get their prisoners away
before the morning should bring a rescue.

The casualties are in themselves enough to show how creditable was the
resistance of the Yeomanry. Out of a force of under four hundred men
they had six officers and fifty-one men killed, eight officers and
eighty men wounded. There have been very few surrenders during the war
in which there has been such evidence as this of a determined stand.
Nor was it a bloodless victory upon the part of the Boers, for there was
evidence that their losses, though less than those of the British, were
still severe.

The prisoners, over two hundred in number, were hurried away by the
Boers, who seemed under the immediate eye of De Wet to have behaved with
exemplary humanity to the wounded. The captives were taken by forced
marches to the Basuto border, where they were turned adrift, half clad
and without food. By devious ways and after many adventures, they all
made their way back again to the British lines. It was well for De Wet
that he had shown such promptness in getting away, for within three
hours of the end of the action the two regiments of Imperial Horse
appeared upon the scene, having travelled seventeen miles in the time.
Already, however, the rearguard of the Boers was disappearing into the
fastness of the Langberg, where all pursuit was vain.

Such was the short but vigorous campaign of De Wet in the last part of
December of the year 1901. It had been a brilliant one, but none the
less his bolt was shot, and Tweefontein was the last encounter in which
British troops should feel his heavy hand. His operations, bold as they
had been, had not delayed by a day the building of that iron cage which
was gradually enclosing him. Already it was nearly completed, and in
a few more weeks he was destined to find himself and his commando
stru